


Finding Tomorrow

by kirael



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode: s05e04 The End, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt Gabriel, Multi, Pre-Slash, Season/Series 09, pairings are minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3308126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirael/pseuds/kirael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Lucifer,” Gabriel acknowledges, grinding the leaf into dust. He notes that even the Croats, mindless beings that they are, have some sort of instinctive reaction towards Lucifer; some shuffle away, others walk closer, and one falls to its knees and doesn’t get back up due to lack of coordination.</p><p>Lucifer steps closer. "It's been a while."</p><p>(Or, Gabriel becomes sick and tired of Lucifer's whining and heads to another universe where things are much more exciting.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Tomorrow

**i.**

 

Gabriel is walking through a town, his eyes dark and shadowed, hair a wild mess. Those infected with the Croatoan virus (“Croats,” he’s once heard them called while passing through the camp Casti—Cas—lives, disguised as a lovely young woman.) walk around aimlessly, ignoring him as they look for their (somewhat) healthy counterparts. There is a strange smell in the air, nothing like the old scent of smog mixed in with the crisp mix of gases that for the most of the Earth’s life was the norm. Gabriel wonders if it is the Croats, or if it is something else.

He grips a tea leaf, summoned from somewhere in Asia, in his left hand, chewing thoughtfully. (Chewing something helps him think, and everything else is too gross) To anyone looking, he would seem like either a philosopher or a lunatic, but, of course, no one is looking. The smell grows stronger, almost overwhelming now, and Gabriel can pick out the smell of ozone and burning.

Gabriel drops the leaf and crushes it under a shoe.

The sound of beating wings fills the air.

Gabriel tries not to look when he lands gracefully a few feet away, turning to the side because he knows if he does, his heart will crack and break and shatter until Lucifer looks at him with Sam’s fucking puppy dog face and he will crumble into ashes and shadows.

“Brother.” Lucifer’s voice, as always, is soft, hiding a devil, the devil, underneath.

“Lucifer,” Gabriel acknowledges, grinding the leaf into dust. He notes that even the Croats, mindless beings that they are, have some sort of instinctive reaction towards Lucifer; some shuffle away, others walk closer, and one falls to its knees and doesn’t get back up due to lack of coordination.

Lucifer steps closer, and Gabriel knows his arms are spread out wide, as if he’s inviting Gabriel in for a hug or something like that. “It’s been a while.”

Gabriel grunts, burrowing hands deep inside pockets. “That it is.” He looks up, down, left, right, anywhere other than his brother. He’s sweaty, he realizes, and stops it with a thought, pulling his hands out and wiping them on his jeans.

“Has it really been that long, Gabriel?” Lucifer muses. “It seems that just yesterday you were a little fledgling curled up in my wings, begging me to tell you more stories.”

Gabriel grits his teeth and conjures up a cigarette. “Then you left, and here we are.”

This, Lucifer breaks his calm for. “I did not leave, I was cast out!” he snaps, cold fury threaded into his tone. He does not bother walking, and spreads his wings in order to fly two feet, landing right in front of Gabriel, and Gabriel has no choice but to look at him.

Lucifer, in Sam, looks like an angel (He is still an angel, despite what some say.) in his pristine white suit, hair done perfectly, grace shining through bright and blinding, a perfect contrast compared to Gabriel, who’s dressed as casual as possible, dirt and dust making a home on his skin. Lucifer smells like ice and fire and the sky and the ground and he wears the contradictions as finely as he wears his suit. His facial features form a horrible human imitation of concern. He towers over Gabriel, and Gabriel thinks it funny that even in human form his brother is bigger.

If Gabriel had to describe him in a single word, that word would be “beautiful.”

Some things never change.

Gabriel blows smoke into his face and enjoys watching his eyes narrow, glaring down at Gabriel like every elder brother ever. (Gabriel is reminded of a different older brother. Two as a matter of fact. One that traded himself for the younger, and one hat watched as their sibling fell.)

“They’re dead,” Lucifer hisses. “Dean and Castiel—or should I say Cas? And Sam—he’s wallowing in despair inside his own head. Would you like to see him, Gabriel?”

If Gabriel looks close enough, he can see Sam’s soul squirming, screaming for Dean, God, Castiel, somebody. Lucifer has him crammed in a corner, just able to see what’s going on. There’s no doubt Lucifer made Sam see the killing of his brother.

Gabriel ignores Lucifer’s question. “What do you want?”

Lucifer blinks, tilting his head, and Gabriel fills up with some of his old righteous anger, clenching his hands and wanting to stab Lucifer, watch his grace burn out of Sam, take deep breaths as he stares at the imprints of Lucifer’s gorgeous, gorgeous wings. He doesn’t.

“I mean, why are you here?” Gabriel is breathing heavily, invisible wings flaring out in a sudden outburst of anger that he knows Lucifer can see. “You got what you wanted. The humans are all but gone, and the Winchester duo and their angel are essentially dead. Hell, you didn’t even have to dance the lambada with Michael. So let me ask again: what do you want?”

Lucifer smiles icily. “Nothing. Maybe I just wanted to talk to my little brother. We are the last angels on Earth, after all.”

Gabriel laughs, throwing his hands up into the air. (If he doesn’t laugh he’ll cry and he can’t have that right now, not in front of Lucifer.) “You haven’t changed a bit.”

And Lucifer doesn’t answer, because he’s fucking perfect and why should he have to change there’s nothing to change and—fuck.

The silence is deafening.

Lucifer just stares at him, all concern and brief confusion and cockiness, and maybe Gabriel will just settle for a punch instead.

“Goodbye, brother.”

The displacement of air is brief, and when Lucifer finally leaves, Gabriel sucks in a lungful of air he doesn’t actually need and slowly sinks to the ground. He’s alone, and Lucifer is alone, and they’re all the other has and it was inevitable, he knows, but it can’t end like this: Gabriel kneeling on the ground, tired of it all, Lucifer still as prideful as ever, every other sibling gone, each and every one of them alone, and shit, even the cigarette is alone, smoldering on the ground, and Gabriel can’t figure out when it was hurled onto the ground in the first place because-

A Croat stumbles in front of him, and before Gabriel can even think he has his hands on its head, pressing, pressing, until it explodes like a chunky bowl of soup. ((Shit, he’s reminded of the First War, fighting his own siblings and sweeping outwards with his grace, destroying their molecules suddenly and without mercy. That, he thinks, is what made him left) And, of course, there was the whole “my family is destroying each other” thing, but he can’t think about that right now.)

He stares blindly at the lifeless body in front of him, and his face and hair is now splattered with patches of scarlet in addition to the layers of muck. He doesn’t bother magicking himself clean.

Gabriel contemplates the benefits of chasing after Lucifer, of apologizing and going back to the way they were, but he’s already laughing at the idea. He has all these monumental reality-shifting powers, and he wants to escape so bad, but there’s nothing he could do except wallow in his own pathetic self-pity and-

There is a pause.

Gabriel raises his hand slowly and snaps.

 

**ii.**

 

There is a man in the street, covered in dirt and grime and god knows what.

There is another man standing above him.

They shimmer, and disappear.

 

**iii.**

 

Gabriel ignores Metatron, not because he’s obnoxious, because Gabriel fucking can. Metatron is a little prick, and as soon as Gabriel is out of the holy fire he is going to smite the asshole.

“Gabriel,” Metatron says again, attempting to sound threatening, but that’s a little hard when you’re wearing a middle-aged man who used to sell pirate movies for a living. “If you do not help me I will kill you and everyone you love.”

That’s such a cliché villain line, and Gabriel bursts out laughing. “Everyone I love? Scribe, there ain’t anyone I love. Not here.”

Metatron scowls. “I’ll kill you, then.”

Gabriel examines his nails and wonders if there’s any way he’ll be able to bribe some candy out of Metatron. It’s been seemingly forever since he’s had some good old human-manufactured candy, and he realizes that their love of the “mud monkeys” was one of the many ways that they were alike. (Both had also run away from their family, hiding like cowards.) “Okay, why would you need my help? From what you’ve said, ol’ Mikey and Luci are stuck downstairs. The world is free for the taking, and you have your fancy tablets. I highly doubt you need me,” he snorts.

Metatron narrows his eyes, reaching through the holy fire (shit, he’s become powerful) to tap Gabriel on his forehead.

A rush of information slots itself into Gabriel’s mind, and he quickly categorizes them into the section of his brain labeled, “Alternate Timeline.” He carefully sorts through the memories that are not his, almost laughing as he reaches some of the funnier ones. Then Lucifer stabs him in the heart, literally, the Apocalypse is averted, another civil war breaks out, as if they didn’t have enough already, Castiel becomes fucking God, the Leviathan are released, the angels fall, and shit, the Winchester boys are a lot more trouble than they’re worth. It’s like a hastily written outline of a book, he thinks. There’s only the broad, vague summary of the main plot points, none of the subplots or sub-subplots.

He straightens, snickering. “You have got to be kidding me. Leviathan? Woo-whee, those boys are something, alright.”

Metatron nods solemnly. “As you can see, Gabriel, your help in—ah—managing them will be greatly appreciated.” He’s fiddling with his ugly bathrobe now, and Gabriel knows he’s got the upper hand, despite the power differences. He was Metatron’s superior at one point.

“And if I still disagree?”

Metatron suddenly smiles, and Gabriel is reminded of a slow, syrupy voice whispering amenities, promising power, if only he would join him, if he would leave it all behind and. “I’ll depower you, even more so than now, maybe I’ll tear out your grace, and send you back. What will Luci think of that?”

Gabriel stiffens, eyes dark and dangerous, and he fights to reel his wings in. “Shut up.”

It’s the Scribe’s turn to laugh this time. “What do you say? Ready to deliver another message?”

 

**iv.**

 

Despite rumours, Gabriel does care about the other angels.

So when he skims over the script, reading lines that weren’t very good to begin with, and sees little Castiel on the page, his heart stops for a moment.

Then he smiles and smirks and plays the snarky asshole he’s supposed to be.

It’s depressing, looking with human eyes and seeing a tired, fairly attractive man, and then looking with grace, seeing something slowly burning itself out, something that is not Castiel at all live inside Castiel’s body.

“Stop,” he says suddenly, breaking out of character, and now he’s in Metatron’s office, staring at Castiel, bound and silent in a chair. The smell hits him, the smell of humans and new books and Gabriel tries his best not to compare it to Lucifer, but of course, he ultimately fails.

Metatron glares at Gabriel, running over to Castiel and pressing a finger to his forehead, no doubt removing the memory. “What was that for? You were doing great!”

Gabriel is blunt and straight to the point. “After this, I want my powers back.” He crosses his arms over his chest, and, in a corner of his mind, he’s aware that he looks like a petulant child, angry at their parents for one odd thing or another.

“What?”

“I wasn’t aware that the Scribe of God had hearing problems,” Gabriel says, keeping his tone as nonchalant as possible. Sweat beads up on his forehead and he hopes Metatron doesn’t catch it because he can’t stop it like before.

Metatron shifts, hands shoved into the pockets of his bathrobe, and he looks suspicious, but he’s not stupid, he hasn’t forgotten that Gabriel, despite everything, is still a trickster, and, well, who knows what havoc he could wreak?

“There are conditions,” Metatron begins, dragging the words out as if he’s physically hurt trying to say them.

“Yeah? Lay ‘em on me.” Gabriel’s cocky and blasé, a smirk on his face, easy confidence oozing out of him like pus from a wound. That’s the hardest bit to fake.

Metatron bites his lip.

Gabriel has won this battle.

 

**v.**

 

He gets the hell out of dodge as soon as the illusion ends.

The first thing he does, all powered up and in a world that has decidedly not ended, is visit Kali.

He doesn’t actually allow her to see him, because here he’s dead, and Kali will kill him again for dying, and even if he is an archangel Kali is a powerful being with millions of followers; even if she can’t really kill him she is able to maim him considerably. (If Gabriel is still in love with her, even after all this time, he doesn’t say, or even think it.)

There’s nothing for him after that.

Gabriel flits around various spots, exploring the new, Lucifer-and-Michael-free world. He helps some of the fallen angels that he knows will not betray him, brushing off their numerous questions with a laugh, giving them food and money and a warm place to sleep at nice.

The worst part of “helping” is the seemingly infinite funerals he has to do. Every time he senses a fallen brethren, he stops, heart aching and burning with all the force of a thousand suns, and he descends, clutching their body, if they managed to get one, or their grace. He chants the ancient rites, saying words in a language he hasn’t spoken in millennia.

The experience is both liberating and horrifying.

One day, an angel who calls herself Orphiel grabs his arm before he has the opportunity to fly away.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, voice laden with grief. Her arm is covered in bandages, her face tired and worn. She had landed in the middle of a warzone, taking possession of a woman and then immediately being shot. Gabriel had flown a few thousand miles to save her. Orphiel will be fine, Gabriel knows, despite her shaking hands and leaking eyes. She’s a warrior. They’re all warriors.

“Be safe,” Gabriel says instead of accepting the gratitude. He leans down and kisses her cloth-covered head.

Orphiel smiles briefly. “I will.” With her good hand, she reaches up and touches his cheek with surprising gentleness. “Godspeed, Messenger.”

Gabriel closes his eyes, absorbing the warmth of her small hand. He’s gone in less than a second, not allowing himself to wallow in the love of his siblings.

“Godspeed,” she had said, and she had meant it.

He thinks on the phrase and he comes to a single conclusion: faith still exists.

Huh.

 

**vi.**

 

As expected, the Winchesters find him soon enough.

He’s in a Gas n’ Sip, of all things, when they catch up, no doubt hearing the rumours of the angel who still has their wings.

Gabriel can sense their souls as soon as they’re within a mile of him; they’re monstrously bright, shining with the light equivalent to a 3rd tier Seraph, and from a distance, Gabriel is reminded of Michael and Lucifer. Perhaps that’s why, instead of flying to some distant part of the planet, he leans against the wall and contemplates candy.

“Gabriel?” is their shocked responses as they run in. Must have seen him through the windows.

“If it isn’t the three stooges.” He pushes himself up and sticks a chocolate bar in his mouth, just for show. “So I heard you stopped the Apocalypse.” He’s looking at Sam, because at one point Sam was Lucifer and Lucifer was Sam. He’s still outrageously tall, and he still carries the same quiet anger and burning finesse, but his hair is longer and his eyes are darker and he’s very very human, and Gabriel latches onto the fact so he doesn’t implode.

Dean frowns, scowls as a matter of fact, and gets right in Gabriel’s personal space. Typical. (He must have gotten it from Cassie.) “Where the hell were you?” he growls.

But Gabriel isn’t listening, because holy shit, these boys really are something special, or maybe the right word is awful. He grabs Dean’s arm, using his powers to stop him from squirming or pulling away, ignoring his yelled, “Let go you-“, rolling up the sleeve until…

Well.

Maybe he should have flown away after all.

 

**vii.**

 

“What the hell have you two got caught up in? The Mark of Cain? You have got to be kidding me.” Gabriel is pacing back and forth in front of their car, wringing his hands, while the brothers look at each other sheepishly. “This is ridiculous!” he continues. “For once, can you not break the world? It is not that hard.”

“Look, Gabriel-“

Gabriel stops walking and glares at Sam. “You had your part in this,” he accuses, pointing at him viciously. “Have you not read the Bible? ‘A fugitive and a vagabond you shall be on the earth.’ ‘And the Lord set a mark on Cain, lest anyone finding him should kill him.’‘…whoever kills Cain, vengeance shall be taken on him sevenfold.’” He shakes his head. “Do you have any idea what that means?”

They stare blankly.

“It means,” Gabriel elaborates. “If and when Dean dies, he’ll come back, causing havoc sevenfold.”

It’s like speaking to a herd of cattle.

“As a demon.”

That makes them react.

Dean jumps up, glaring as if it was all Gabriel’s fault that this had happened in the first place, and Sam’s eyes dart toward his brother’s arm. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife that one of the boys undoubtedly has on hand.

“So,” Dean grunts after a while, “I just have to not die.”

Gabriel snorts. Ain’t that a fucking riot.

Even Sam is looking skeptical. “Dean, I think in our line of work that’s a little tough to do.” He has “vaguely uncomfortable” written all over his face, and he reaches out with one hand hesitantly, wondering if there’s any use trying to comfort Dean.

“Right,” Gabriel says, attempting to draw the conversation back on track. “We have to remove the mark.”

Dean squints at him. “Who said anything about we?” he asks, brandishing a weapon like, ha, it’ll actually save him.

Gabriel smiles coldly, and says, “I did. Now I’m joining your little Brady boys bunch, I expect a lot more respect.” He turns towards Dean, pointing accusingly. “Especially from you, bucko.”

As expected, Dean is indignant, sputtering and ranting angrily while Sam attempts to calm him down, though Gabriel sees that both their souls are alight with distrust and anger.

He revels in the feelings, the passion, because wow, back in his universe there are no feelings or emotions except grief and regret; the Apocalypse never tasted as sweet as he thought it would. And maybe the whole thing’s like a drug to him, and maybe he’s getting high on it, but he’s fine. Good, even. Peachy.

He wonders how long it’ll last.

 

**Interlude - 2014**

 

Camp Chitaqua is a stronghold, sigils and wards carved in every nook and cranny, an anti-possession tattoo inked onto every person that can handle it. No one is without work, and Chuck definitely has his work cut out for him.

Gabriel, in the form of a short, dark-haired woman, feels the Enochian wards press down on her as she enters, suppressing her power, but she’s not just an angel; she’s also the Trickster and Loki. She has her ways to get around these things.

As soon as she steps foot within the chain-link fence she has a dozen guns pointing toward his direction, and she holds her hands up in defense. “Woah, hey, guys,” she says, stumbling over her words, “I’m not one of them zombies out there. My friends—they told me that there’s a camp. This is it right?” Gabriel makes her voice climb in pitch, hoping to sound hysterical.

The guns don’t lower, but a man steps through, gun tucked in thigh holster, a canteen with a cross in one hand, a silver knife in the other. “Arm out,” he commands, sharp and demanding.

Dean Winchester, Gabriel thinks, and she complies, shoving out her shaking left arm.

Dean comes closer, splashing water on Gabriel’s face, slicing Gabriel’s arm with little compassion. When she doesn’t react, he nods, and the guns turn away, the people going back to their regular business.

Gabriel is directed to Chuck, the skittish little prophet who Raphael lorded over for some time. He holds his clipboard awkwardly, asking questions like he’s apologizing for something, and Gabriel lies about her life, says that she can fight, took sword lessons, can speak multiple languages, and is an expert in history, which is all true, but it isn’t really important. It does add to her pretend personality though.

She heads out on her own, allowed to wander and explore until they find a job for her.

The first thing she does is go see Castiel.

“H-hello?” she asks, pushing through the beads to see a lone figure meditating in the center of the room.

“The next orgy is in a few hours,” Castiel says, not opening his eyes.

Gabriel smirks and walks closer. “You’re Castiel, right?”

Castiel grins, opening his eyes, and Gabriel quickly schools her face into a frightened, semi-intrigued look. “It’s Cas,” he corrects, but he doesn’t sound too angry. “Hand me that bottle.”

Gabriel looks around and notices a prescription pill bottle, and she frowns, picking it up and giving it to Cas, who downs a handful of them. She says warily, “You’re the angel.”

Cas laughs. “I haven’t been that for a while, baby.” He squints at her. “What’s your name?”

“Gabriella,” is the lie, and she is laughing under her shy smile.

“Well, Gabriella, how ‘bout you and me have a private session?”

Oh hell no. This is going to turn incestuous fast, and Gabriel would rather not add that to her long list of sins. So she holds up her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Uh, Cas, I’d love to, but-“

Cas interrupts her by bursting out in a fit of laughter, actually doubling over as he holds out a finger telling her to wait. The laugh is empty, self-pitying, and Gabriel hates it. “Oh, that’s fantastic,” Cas chokes out. “I haven’t laughed this hard in years.”

Cas straightens up after a while, deadly serious. “Gabriel, right?” His eyes are teasing and at the same time calculating, questioning.

Gabriel grins. “’Course, little bro. Who else could it be?”

Castiel shrugs. “Who knows? Could be the Devil, marching up and razing the camp, or maybe the angels have come back. Didn’t expect you though. Thought you died.”

She goes around the cabin, opening drawers and peeking around. “That’s me,” she agrees. “I’m a wild card.”

When she gets closer, Cas grabs her and spins her around, kissing her gently on the lips, and Gabriel lets him, though she could kill him with a simple snap of her fingers. He smells like blood and gunpowder.

Gabriel can feel his mind clouding over, and she wonders if he can feel her grace, if he’s getting high on it, even after all these years. “What was that for?” she asks after she’s released.

A lazy shrug is his response. “Just wanted to try. The candy taste kinda gives you away, in case you wanted to know.”

It’s been months since her last piece of sugary goodness. “You’re not much of an angel anymore, are you?” It’s a redundant question, and as soon as it escapes her mouth she regrets it.

His mouth twists in a most definitely unangelic way. “Didn’t you just ask if I was the angel? Besides,” he says, leaning in closer, “You haven’t been an angel for eons. Who are you to judge?” Cas leans back again, swaying slightly. “Of course, you’re right. I-“

He’s cut off by a booming voice from outside: “Cas!”

Cas blinks. “Sorry, but I’m afraid I must confer with our Fearless Leader. Goodbye, Gabriel.” He gives her his bitter smiles and leaves.

Gabriel is left alone, and she replaces all the drugs with sugar pills.

Cas, she hopes, will be fine.

 

**viii.**

He could go back, leave this world to its own devices, and Gabriel knows the laws of dimensional hopping, but screw that; he’s going to stay here and help because he’s a archangel and if he doesn’t want to he will not follow the rules.

Gabriel doesn’t think about how it was this kind of mindset that had caused his big brother to fall.

 

**ix.**

 

“Why are you here?” Cain is gruff, angry and bitter and ready to kill, despite the fact that he would much rather tend to his bees.

Gabriel licks a glob of honey off his pointer finger. “What?” he asks. “Am I not allowed to visit my favourite Knight of Hell? I’ve missed you.”

“I refuse to be responsible for your sugar addiction, no matter what you might claim,” Cain says, shucking a piece of corn. He looks lazy, relaxed, but underneath he’s alert and on the lookout for threats, whatever they may be.

The archangel grins and dips another finger into a honey jar, sucking and licking in an almost pornographic way.

“Is this about the Winchesters?” The Knight’s voice is hard and angry.

“Well, I highly doubt you’re about to become the next Sherlock.”

Cain stands up, almost slamming his palms onto the table. “I don’t want anything else to do with them. And I do think it is time for you to leave.” He pushes Gabriel toward the door insistently, lips tight and pursed.

“I need you take the Mark back from Dean and kill Abaddon.”

The Knight stops. “I made Colette a promise,” he hisses. “I’m not going to kill again.”

Gabriel licks his lips, slowly walking around Cain so that they’re facing each other. “But you did. I’ve got the latest news, remember, from a direct source and everything. You killed all those demons a while back, and then you moved here.” He looks around. “To this creaky little place in California.”

Cain rolls up his sleeves, carefully removing his wedding ring and setting it on a table. “I’m not going to fight you, Gabriel, if that’s what you want.”

“Hmm?” Gabriel’s smile is shark-like. “Oh, as a matter fact, a fight isn’t what I want at all.” He’s itching, and his hands are drifting closer, ready to scratch. “What I want,” Gabriel purrs, “is for you either take the Mark or tell me how to get the Mark off.”

“As I said, I’m not going to kill again.”

“Then I suppose you’d tell me how to remove the Mark.”

Archangel versus Knight of Hell, Gabriel thinks. Wonder how that’ll play out.

But Cain doesn’t give him the opportunity to decide, because he narrows his eyes and glares, a strange look on his face that reminds Gabriel of the look he used to get before going on a killing spree. “You should go.”

Gabriel waggles his eyebrows. “Not until you spill.”

Cain sighs and says, “You’re sounding an awful lot like those angels you ran away from.”

Ow. Gabriel flinches minutely at this, glaring with eyes of molten gold. “Shut it,” he says through his clenched teeth. “Just…”

“You should go,” Cain repeats.

The archangels have always suffered from pride, and Gabriel is not an exception. But he controls it better than his brothers, because he sends a false smile toward Cain and turns, grabbing a jar of honey as he does so. He walks out of the house and spreads his wings.

After Gabriel leaves, Cain moves again. This time, he puts up sigils. No one is going to interrupt his beekeeping (and his tentative peace) ever again.

 

**x.**

 

She’s a beautiful being, fiery and dangerous and sharp, her many arms circling you and trapping you like a venus fly trap, silent and deadly. And here she is, staring down at Gabriel, eyes burning and glowing like the embers of a flame.

“So,” she says calmly, “how long have you been alive?”

Gabriel doesn’t quite know how to answer, so he doesn’t.

Kali slams him up against a wall and kisses him ferociously, her lips as searing as the rest of her. Then she pulls away and sets him on fire, saying, “Ullu ka patha,” as she does so.

It barely tickles, of course, because she’s not using the full extent of her power, but Gabriel is glad Kali, of all beings, hasn't changed. “You don’t mean that,” he teases.

“I do,” she says primly, brushing a beautiful, manicured hand over Gabriel’s shoulder. “Because you’re an asshole.”

“Mmm. Everyone seems to be saying that these days.”

“It’s true.”

And yeah, it is, but Gabriel can’t help it, so he just leans back against the wall and tries to look as casual as possible.

“I don’t expect to see you again,” she says coldly, crossing her arms. “Trouble always seems to follow.”

“I am the Trickster.” He raises his eyebrows mockingly, as if she had forgotten.

“But you’re also the Herald, the Messenger, the Archangel.” At Gabriel’s surprised look, she raises an eyebrow. “If I’m to face you Westerners’ Apocalypse I think having some knowledge beforehand helps.” She turns and starts walking.

Kali: sharp as a knife. She should get a shirt made.

 

**xi.**

 

Abaddon is killed while Gabriel is off doing nothing. Castiel takes back Heaven while Gabriel is off doing something. And Dean (whoops) dies because Gabriel isn’t paying attention. It’s not his fault, honest! He was just…a little busy.

(Actually, he did help for one thing. With a little persuasion and intimidation, he and Cas managed to take back Cas’ grace, though it was gravely weakened, and Cas—poor, innocent Castiel—is almost human and barely angel.)

“Damn it, Gabriel. I thought you said you were looking after him!” Sam’s hands fly everywhere, pushing his hair back and gesturing wildly. He glares at Gabriel with the sort of brutal intensity he had when Dean died the first time.

“Calm down, Sammy-“

“Sam,” says the enraged moose. “And where is he? You were tracking him!”

“Sam.” Gabriel gets up and places his hands on Sam’s shoulders. “If you start freaking out like this you won’t be any help to anybody, let alone Dean. So sit down, call Castiel down here, and we’ll figure it out. Together.”

Sam sits down on the nearest chair, still extremely angry, and spits out, “Together? Gabriel, there is no together. There’s me, and there’s Dean, and there’s Cas. Team Free Will. We never asked for your help.”

It’s true. It’s true and Gabriel wonders if archangels can get sick because he feels a wave of nausea envelop him, choking him and plucking his feathers off, one by one, clipping his wings and slowly, slowly, sinking his brother’s blade into his grace.

He hopes (he doesn’t pray) that Castiel can drive fast.

 

**xii.**

 

Castiel arrives bloody, a gash on his stomach, chocking out, “bandages,” before collapsing to the ground, dead to the world.

Sam curses and rushes to tend to his injury while he fends off Gabriel and ignores his comments about how to treat grace wounds.

Gabriel doesn’t take it to heart.

 

**xiii.**

 

Castiel wakes, drowsy and on pain medicine, and the first thing that comes out of his mouth is: “Is Dean okay?”

Gabriel almost doesn’t stop the snort that threatens to escape. Little bro always had a thing for the elder Winchester.

“Is Dean okay?” Castiel repeats.

Gabriel is the Messenger; in his line of work words are everything, and here, he chooses carefully. “Don’t worry. Dean’s not hurt.” He doesn’t miss the way Cas’ eyes widen with something that Gabriel would love to classify as “lust,” but he can’t, because words are everything and that is not the right word.

“But is Dean okay?” Castiel asks, and maybe his little brother is starting to understand words.

“Yeah.” Gabriel shoots him a weak smile. “Dean’s fine.” And he’s not lying, nope, and his mind does not shoot back to the conversation he had had with Cain just days before. Twisting, bending, snapping; honesty is a poison Gabriel dares not inject because if he does it will ruin him once and for all. “Dean’s fine.”

Cas nods and settles back to sleep.

 

 **xiv.**  

 

In, out. In, out. In, out. In, out. In, out. In, out.

 

**xv.**

 

“It’s not that hard,” Gabriel says. “A Knight of Hell is essentially the same as a regular demon. All we need is a piece of Dean and some extra stuff, and boom! He’s in our dungeon.”

Sam raises an eyebrow at the use of “our” but doesn’t comment. Instead, he holds up a pair of Dean’s boxers.

“I don’t think that’s very sanitary,” Cas says dryly, and he’s gotten so good at the whole human thing Gabriel can’t tell if he’s being completely honest or just sarcastic.

Gabriel nods. “Yeah, I think that’ll work.” He grabs the boxers and, without even blinking, cuts off a square with his mojo. He ignores Sam’s undignified yelp as he tosses it back, making it land on his head, and Gabriel drops the square in a fancy, gold studded bowl the Men of Letters had laying around. He holds his hand out for the next ingredient.

Some herbs and grasses go in. Next is the jawbone (symbolic or some shit like that) of an animal. Finally, Gabriel snaps, Sam inhales sharply, and blood appears in the bowl.

“Alrighty!” Gabriel claps his hands together with feigned joy. “You ready, Sammy?”

“Excuse me?”

“You are his brother, and, well, I did use your blood.”

“Oh.” Sam blinks about 28 times and nods. “Yeah. Of course.”

And he’s the smart one. Great.

Gabriel guides him through the chants, because Sam’s pronunciation sounds like a bunch of tortoises having sex, and drops the lighter into the bowl just as Sam finishes the last word.

“Hey, guys.”

Dean smiles at them from his devil’s trap, eyes a pitch-black, soul a swirling mass of hate and spite and pain beneath his human shell.

Cas’ breath hitches in his throat and Gabriel can hear him force back tears.

A vessel of Heaven has become a weapon of Hell.

 

**xvi.**

 

Sam and Cas do not speak; they just stare at Dean. Sam stares at his pitch black eyes and Cas, with his wavering vision, stares at the demon underneath the skin. Dean grins, looking back and forth between them, an untold joke on his lips.

So Gabriel speaks up first.

“Hey, Deano,” he drawls. “It’s been a while. Heard you’re batting for another team now.”

The Knight beams. “Gabriel. Glad you were here for me when I died,” he says.

“Well, well, Deanie, do I hear a shred of regret in there?”

Dean narrows his eyes, crossing his arms and frowning, though he keeps his voice casual. “Being a demon is freeing, archangel. But you still just let me die. You will pay for that.”

Gabriel smirks. “I’d like to see you try.”

Sam chooses to step in here, pushing Gabriel back with one arm. “Come on guys,” he says cautiously. “Stop comparing dick sizes. We’re here to talk.”

Dean turns his attention to his little brother. “How are you, Sammy? Doin’ good? Miss me?”

Sam pointedly ignores him. “Cas, you know what to do?” he asks.

“I believe so.” Cas takes a deep breath, shuddering, and reaches past the red paint of the pentacle, eyes closed. He’s wearing one of Dean’s shirts. “Dean.”

His arm touches Dean’s shoulder, and Gabriel carefully monitors the situation. That’s why he’s here, of course. Cas’ grace seeps through his fingers, invisible to the human eye, finding its way to Dean’s shoulder.

Dean winces, and though he says, “Get your hands off me, angel,” he doesn’t move to stop Cas. The grace seeps through his skin, and as soon as it enters the bloodstream, Dean’s head throws back, and he screams in pain.

Sam moves quickly, covering his ears to block out sound that could almost shatter glass, and Dean pulls away roughly and glares at Cas, teeth bared in an animalistic growl.

“Never do that again,” Dean hisses. His eyes are the darkest shade of green possible, boiling over with anger and rage. At least they’re not black.

In contrast, Cas’ piercing blue eyes are welling up with tears, and his hands, clenched into a tight fist at his side, are white with effort.

Dean, with a smile, notices the tears threatening to spill over and taunts, “Poor angel. Feeling guilty? Well, look at me now. The man you love has become the very thing you used to hunt. That must be awful.”

Cas glares at the demon and slaps his hand onto Dean’s shoulder with a renewed vigour. “In the words of an old friend,” he says defiantly, “bite me.”

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Dean says before Cas pushes the last of his grace beneath Dean’s skin, and the demon howls in pain. He tries to pull away, but Cas’ grip is strong and unwavering. Screams are torn from him, and he sinks to his knees, agony pulsing through his body like a heartbeat.

Castiel’s eyes are glowing, lighting up with pure power, his wings a shaky shadow behind him, forcing his remaining grace into Dean’s tattered body, while Sam shuts his eyes to avoid the oncoming storm and Gabriel simply stands off to the side, leaning against a bookshelf, doing nothing except watching and observing. This isn’t his fight.

Suddenly, a bright light fills the room, incandescent in colouring and absolutely beautiful. It fades after a moment, leaving behind a sort of stunned silence.

A full body shudder runs through Dean, and he collapses to the ground.

At the same time, Castiel’s eyes revert to their normal colour, and his knees give out. Sam is there to catch him before he hits the ground, wincing as a thud is heard from where Dean touches down.

Gabriel straightens up and gives them the standing ovation they deserve.

Later, Sam punches him.

I deserved that, he thinks later.

(But he switches out Sam’s shampoo with Nair anyway.)

 

**xvii.**

 

It’s quiet.

Gabriel is flipping through the Men of Letters’ books, commenting every now and then to Sam on the horrific inaccuracies and mistakes. He even takes to pointing out the spelling and grammar errors of theoriginal, untranslated texts, because he’s a little shit like that. (Secretly, he’s worried. Not that he’ll ever admit it, but he’s gotten attached.)

Sam scowls at him from his lonely little spot sitting by Dean’s bed (He had insisted that they put Dean in a room where he was comfortable. Cas had gotten the room a door over.), checking Dean’s vitals or whatever Sam does while he’s waiting for his dead brother to come back to life.

“They’re going to be alright, right?” Sam asks suddenly, and Gabriel stares up, blinking.

“They’ll be fine, Sammy. Cas just got all his grace sucked out and Dean is recovering from something that was Lucifer’s influence.” Gabriel resumes trashing ancient manuscripts.

“But hypothetically-” Sam begins, because he’s negative.

“Hypothetically nothing,” Gabriel finishes for him. “Now get some sleep, because dark circles under your eyes are not a good look for you. Gotta get your beauty rest.”

“Are you going to-“

Sam is cut off with a wave of Gabriel’s hand. “I’m going to watch them. Go to sleep. Big boys gotta grow somehow.” He winks and gently pushes him toward the door with his grace.

Sam stops right under the doorframe, and Gabriel debates just sending him over to his room and forcing him to sleep, but then he says, “Thanks, Gabriel.” He has an odd look on his face, lurking beneath the layers of exhaustion, something like gratitude mixed in with a little bit of something else. Gabriel decides he likes it.

“You’re welcome,” Gabriel says sincerely. “Now, for the love of all that’s holy and unholy, go to bed. You’re acting like a five year-old who wants to stay up past his bedtime.”

A flippant smile is thrown his way, and with a wave, Sam is gone, stomping down the hallway, his shoulders less tense.

“Goodnight, Sammy,” whispers Gabriel, before he realizes that no one is conscious enough to hear him. He shrugs and picks up his book again, this time conjuring up a pen and carefully making annotations in the margins, writing in a small but readable script about the best and most efficient way to kill all sorts of beasties, translating spells with a careful hand.

He’s there for the whole night.

 

**xviii.**

 

“Gabriel.”

Said archangel jumps slightly and looks over to where Castiel is, laying in a bed in the room next to Dean’s. Cas is sitting up, bent over, looking down at his barechested attire.

“What happened?” Cas asks, an edge of panic sneaking into his voice. His voice is soft and raspy. “Is Dean okay?”

Gabriel stands and pushes Cas down into his bed as carefully as he can; he doesn’t want to hurt him. “Calm down, Columbo. There’s a lot to explain, and you need to rest some more.” His job now has dissolved into an alarm clock telling people when they should sleep.

“Am I—am I human?” says Cas, ignoring Gabriel. His face suddenly reverts back to the way it was before everything, when he was still ignorant of humanity. “Explain.”

Gabriel rubs the back of his neck and snaps up a candy bar. “Chocolate?” He holds it out, and Castiel just stares at him “Okay, sheesh.” He delays a little longer, chewing on a sliver of chocolate and savoring the taste as Castiel patiently waits.

“Dean’s not a demon anymore,” is the first thing Gabriel says, because that’ll soothe Cas, make him calm and more likely to fall the fuck back to sleep. “And you’re fine. I’ve checked. No injuries or anything.”

Cas’ eyes are drifting closed, and he settles deeper into the mattress. “The Mark?” he murmurs sleepily.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, little bro. Get some rest.”

When Cas finally falls asleep, Gabriel touches a hand to his forehead and magicks the dreams away.

 

**xix.**

 

They’re up. Of course, it was bound to happen eventually, but Gabriel would much rather deal with two “dead to the world” lovesick idiots rather than two awake ones. They were more likely to grieve, more likely to get angry and lash out, grab hold of their darkest inner thoughts and cultivate them, swirling and swirling around like the darkest of voids. Unconsciousness is a lot more peaceful.

When Dean groggily rubs his eyes and yawns, blinking back days of sleep, Sam shouts, and Gabriel is there in a second, grudgingly scanning his body and declaring him fit and healthy. He has no idea when he became the resident doctor, but he’s been a number of things, and maybe it’s time to add to the list.

Castiel is up soon after that, this time refusing to rest again, not until he sees Dean is alright. They tremble in each other’s arms, Castiel shaking as he stares into Dean’s green, green eyes that are alight with relief and joy and anticipation and humanity.

Sam and Gabriel share a look as their brothers cling onto one another. They leave, the moment too intimate for them to intrude.

“They’ll be fine?” inquires Sam as soon as they’re out of earshot.

Gabriel grunts, playing with the handle of a lollipop. “They’ll live,” he answers as vaguely as he can.

“I know,” says Sam. “But what about…what about their mental state?”

Gabriel stops, turns to Sam, his face deadly serious. “Kiddo, Cas is human again, most likely for good this time, and Dean was recently a demon. They’re going to need time.” He shrugs. “They have you. And each other.”

“And you,” Sam interjects loudly. His face softens, and he repeats, in a quieter voice, “They’ll have you too.”

“I don’t think I’ll be sticking around much longer,” Gabriel confesses, eyes fixated on a tuft of hair that’s been just standing straight up. “Not really liking this whole set up you’ve got here. Not my thing.”

Sam runs his hand through his hair, and just like that, the stray tuft of hair is put into its place. “You could stay. I mean—if you wanted. I don’t think they’d mind.”

“What about you? Would you mind?” Gabriel pauses, and holds his hand up before Sam can answer. “I’m not from this universe, you know.”

Sam blinks. “Excuse me? You’re not an alien, right? Are you going to tell me that you’re a Time Lord or something?” His eyes light up with mirth, and he obviously thinks Gabriel is joking.

“No,” the archangel says slowly, feeling the words roll around in his mouth. “I’m not an alien. I’m still Gabriel, archangel and Trickster. I’m from a different timeline. I think your brother’s been over in my world once. The Gabriel here is dead.”

“Oh.” Sam is frozen in shock. Of course.

“In my world” Gabriel says, and the words tumble out of him like a waterfall, “you’ve said ‘yes,’ and you’re Lucifer’s vessel. The virus—the Croatoan virus—it’s taken over, and last I saw them Dean and Cas were at this camp. Cas is a druggie, a hippie, and Dean—he’s not Dean, not really. I think they’re both dead now actually, and I was there too, and Lucifer just appeared to me, and I-“

He stops talking as he realizes Sam has no clue what’s going. “Sorry,” he says, wincing. “That wasn’t how I planned it.”

“Gabriel.” Sam’s voice is awkward, but it’s laced with warmth. “You don’t have to go back. My offer still stands. You could stay here if you wanted.”

Still so sweet, even after all that’s happened.

Gabriel smirks, spins around with his arms spread out wide. “Yeah, Sammy,” he says. “I think I’d like that.”

(Later, when they go check on Dean and Cas, the former angel’s hair is even more messy than usual and their lips are swollen ever so slightly. Dean also has a mark on the side of his neck. Gabriel just about dies with laughter while Sam throws his hands up into the air and says, “Finally!” with an exasperated tone. Dean blushes and stutters like a little girl until Castiel, blunt being that he is, declares that he “loves Dean and will treasure his soul for all of eternity.” Then they passionately make out, and making out soon dissolves into something way more awkward.

Sam runs away to the farthest corner of the Bunker and Gabriel gags and flies to Peru to get the sight out of his eyes.)

 

**xx.**

 

Dean and Cas get stronger, and soon they’re going on hunts, Sam becoming the third wheel as they repeatedly get two motel rooms, one for the lovely couple who seems to going at it like rabbits, and one for the very exasperated Sam who has to put up with their nonsense.

Gabriel pops in every once in a while, snacking on whatever he manages to find at the time, indulging himself. He goes back to his Trickster duties, only now, instead of killing victims, he just mortally humiliates them.

He keeps his promise, more or less, staying with the boys whenever they’re at the Bunker, building up the Men of Letters again with his (still) vast resources and almost unlimited power.

It wasn’t perfect. In fact, it was far from it. They fight, leaving Gabriel to storm out and not return for a couple weeks. And yet, somehow, they made it work.

But then he’d look over at Sam, staring at him with a concerned look, eyebrows raised in an “are you okay you better be or else” way. He’d glance over at Dean and Cas, gazing at each other with endless amounts of love in their eyes, occasionally brushing the other in a gesture of reassurance.

Gabriel would then smile, smirk, and tell a wildly inappropriate joke that would have Dean blushing and Cas with his mouth quirked upward. Sam would shake his head, but he’d be laughing too.

Gabriel’s more at peace than he has been in years.)

 

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Kali says, in Hindi, "idiot." If that's wrong, I blame my friends.
> 
> Also:  
> Apparently, I can't write semi-long fics without splitting it up into little tiny sections.  
> 


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